


the softest clouds and rainbow skies, ain't gonna lie

by Crumbles_Of_Reality



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty with a slightly fluffy ending, Depression, I've never actually written stucky before so I hope this turned out okay, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Suicide Attempt, Teenage Steve Rogers, for amaya, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crumbles_Of_Reality/pseuds/Crumbles_Of_Reality
Summary: The first time Steve tried to get rid of himself (to put it in a prettier way, because it's something that's so clearly ugly) he’s far too young and not at all sturdy enough to be thinking straight.





	the softest clouds and rainbow skies, ain't gonna lie

**Author's Note:**

> I gotta admit, I don't really ship stucky but my best friend does and so I wrote this for her (even if its sad as shit and she may not have wanted it heheh) 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for a suicide attempt. It's not gory but it discusses suicide and there's no fix it at the end, I leave it at a cliff hanger.

The first time Steve tried to get rid of himself (to put it in a prettier way) he’s far too young and not at all sturdy enough to be thinking straight. It was a cold winter, harsher than most, and frostbite tickled the limbs of many who dared to be walking the streets past sundown. Icy cold threatened those who exited the warmth of their homes at any time of the day, and the streets, typically bustling with war stories and veterans and tired, weary workers, were empty and barren in the face of such cruel weather.

 

Steve was sick- as usual. It infuriated the short boy that he was so useless in his own home in such a dire time, with his mother working harder than any person should have to and his father disappearing to the pub for far too many hours. For over half the day he was alone in their tiny apartment house, without anything but a crackling old radio to keep him company.

 

Coughs would rack his lungs and the cold, battled by a rusty radiator, nipped at his nose underneath stacks of blankets. Despite all the attempts at keeping himself healthy it seemed futile in such weather, and he shuffled around on the ratty couch in hope to get more comfortable before falling into a fever-hazy sleep.

 

His mother washed other family’s clothes in whatever spare time she had after her day job finished, desperately scrounging for medication to give Steve. It wasn’t the first time she would go hungry for her son, and if his sicknesses continued in like fashion, it wouldn’t be the last.

 

Steve wanted it to be the last.

 

He knew he wasn’t worth it. The first time he got sick - _really_ sick - he passed out for days in a sweaty, feverish mess. When he came to his chest was aching and his throat burned. His legs were so weak it took Bucky nearly three days to convince him to try to walk around again, and even then he had a noticeable limp. Everything about his body was frail and small and Steve couldn’t help but notice the toll it took on everyone around him. His own mother looked at him with such a sorrow that it made his bones ache, his father hated him so much he never even came home, and Bucky seemed to stress over him too much for a boy just over a year older than him.

 

And now he’s alone. His mother is out again working, Bucky is learning in school (despite the brunet’s many protests), and his father is- his father is somewhere. If what he had figured out in his head was correct, his family would get over him in just over a couple months. His father would be the first to recover; Without the burden he called a son, he could finally return home to his wife. His mom would be fine after a while, too. Steve knew Sarah Rogers better than anyone else, and he knew how strong her will was. Her eyes always hardened at the prospect of difficult tasks. Getting over Steve would just be another task.

 

Bucky would take it the hardest. They had something more than what was allowed- more than what his father, and even his mom, knew about, although both his parents had come close to figuring it out. They had soft, shared kisses in the night and gentle caresses that eased each other’s aches and pains. However, Bucky was strong; Arguably stronger than anyone Steve had ever known- his partner, if he could be called that, was something indescribable and amazing and Steve wished he could stay with Bucky and simply _live_.

 

That wasn't possible, not with Steve's ailments and ever-present sickness.

 

He didn’t want to hurt anymore- not with all the pain he’s already felt in his fifteen short, sick years of life. Knives were too gory, and the prospect of someone he loved finding him in a bloody, pale mess was too much for his conscience to handle. Likewise, his nurturing mother opening the door to their single bathroom and seeing him covered in vomit and spittle and empty pill bottles made his heart ache more than usual. When winter started he realized the answer to all their troubles was just outside, waiting in the forgiving ice and snow.

 

Cold greeted him when he slipped out from underneath the piles of blankets, and already he started to shiver. His lungs were weak and his body was still encumbered with sickness, but it’s a common cold that Steve can power through for his last few moments. He shuffled on a pair of shoes and stared at the back door of their first-story apartment for a while. A part of him wanted to go lie back down and wait for Bucky to come home from school, to forget about his plan and cuddle and drown in temporary happy before coughing again and reminding everyone how incurable he is.

Tears form numbly in his eyes by the time he snaps to the present and places one foot forward- and then another, and another. His hand (it doesn’t feel like his, he doesn’t feel anything at all except for a distant ache and a ringing in his ears that never seems to dissipate) twists the doorknob and he’s outside, breathing frostbitten air that shouldn’t be natural and coughing up a storm. It should alert the neighbors- maybe it already has- but he keeps walking forward, into the cold midday and towards the forest that plagues his daydreams and nightmares.

 

He’s been walking for about twenty minutes (or so his internal clock tells him) when his mind starts to slip, warmth taking over his body. The cold that bit at him so painfully is fading, replaced by only a cozy happiness. He’s so comfortable- Steve really should be sitting down and enjoying the weather, shouldn’t he? His legs give out from underneath him and he finds himself lying in the snow. Steve barely registers that it’s working- that he should be freezing, but the effects of hypothermia are starting- before he pats the white ground below him and smiles loopily.

 

Steve is so tired- he’s been through so much, and he deserves a nap. It’s the least his body could give him, he thinks, and his head connects with soft snow like it would a pillow. Bucky’s next to him, smiling at him, _Come here, Steve, sleep. Get some rest, doll_ , he whispers, and Steve beams and reaches forward and embraces Bucky, curling around the taller teen and fading in and out of consciousness.

 

Steve is warm, and he’s happy, and Bucky is next to him and they’re smiling so everything should be fine. He closes his eyes.

 

“ _Fuck_ , I can’t believe I found you, please wake up, please-” Steve hears a voice in his sleep and turns to Bucky, mouth twisting in confusion as his partner shouts at him from amidst golden fields and soft lavender.

 

“-you can’t do this to me, fucking _asshole_ , wake _up_ , jesus christ-”

 

                                                                                                             “-Steve, please, doll, wake up-”

 

                                   “-found him in the snow, I don’t know if he’s alive-”

 

                                                                                                                                                                                         “-can you do anything?”

 

“Stevie, please wake up.”

 

                                                                                                  “Wake up.”

 

                                                                                                                                                   “Please, doll, wake up.”

 

Steve opens his eyes and immediately focuses on Bucky’s heartbroken face, hovering over him in a halo of light framing dark, unkempt hair. His partner is sitting on a chair, looking for all the world like someone who had just lost the love of their lives.

Shame curls in the pit of Steve’s stomach when he realizes that may have been true. He turns away and Bucky gasps, crying out with a, “You’re _awake_ ,” before leaning down and giving the blond a bone-crushing hug. Hot, salty tears stain Steve’s shirt and Steve finds himself crying as well, whispering how sorry he is and how he didn’t mean it. His thin hands clutch the fabric of Bucky’s shirt like a lifeline, and perhaps it is, in a way.

 

Bucky pulls away and shoots Steve a look filled with such heartbroken, ugly betrayal Steve nearly heaves.

“Why?”

 

And suddenly Steve can’t find the right words. His reasons seem idiotic and small and utterly childish now that he’s seen even one of the side-effects it’s had on his loved ones, and his lips can’t start to form the words _for you_ without cringing. He takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself- it lasts about three seconds before he catches Bucky’s eyes again and bursts into tears. Bucky seems to file the conversation away for later and instead presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead, pressing him close against his broader chest and trying to will away any hurt Steve may have felt in his life.

 

“You do _so_ much for me,” Steve says softly into Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky huffs.

 

“That’s because I love you, punk. Now shove over, that couch can fit the both of us if your fat ass makes room.”

 

They’re too young and there’s a war going on and they could be killed for who they love, so they close the blinds and wait for Sarah to come home and hold each other tight, because who else will?

**Author's Note:**

> After this, Steve and Bucky and Sarah talk through what Steve was feeling and Steve, while not wealthy enough to attain any formal treatment, is heavily watched and guided because of the risks he may be at. Please don't ever do what Steve did; If you ever feel the way Steve did, please get help or call your local suicide hotline:
> 
> Australia: 131114  
> Canada: 5147234000  
> France: 0145394000  
> India: 8888817666  
> Italy: 800860022  
> Japan: +810352869090  
> Mexico: 5255102550  
> United Kingdom: 08457909090  
> USA: 18002738255
> 
> I love you all and please stay safe!! Let me know what you thought of it and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it.


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